


With My Dying Breaths

by HayamaRei



Series: Immortal Raywood AU [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, I don't know why ao3 makes that tag in all caps, Immortal Fake AH Crew, M/M, Pre-Fake AH Crew, THE CHARACTER DEATH IS TEMPORARY, additional trigger warning in the author's note, but I decided to tag it just in case, first time dying, set somewhere in the 30s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 22:02:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21106712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HayamaRei/pseuds/HayamaRei
Summary: "I won't let them separate us." Ryan's voice is low and so serious now that it tugs on Ray's heart strings.He chuckles again. "I always did say you'd be the death of me."





	With My Dying Breaths

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Writing Raywood in 2019? More likely than you'd think. 
> 
> This idea haunted me for a long time so I had to write it. Hope you'll like it. 
> 
> Additional trigger warnings: 
> 
> \- Implied suicide  
\- Being buried alive

"Motherfucker." Ray hisses as he peaks through the crack in the windows and sees the police rushing toward the building. "Ryan! The cops are here!" 

"We're not done yet!" Ryan yells from halfway inside the safe he just cracked. 

Ray puts his gun away and joins the other to help him shove valuables into a duffle bag. "I don't think they'll politely wait for us to be done." 

Ryan snorts and quickly shoves two boxes in without checking their contents. "This should do it, let's go."

They get up and dash for the door, heading up the stairs instead of down. The front door clicks open and Ryan grabs Ray's forearm as they continue making their way to the attic where they plan on sneaking out through the window. They hear the police downstairs, shouting at each other that the rooms are empty. Then footsteps following them up. 

Ray sneaks through the small window first, taking the bag from Ryan and waiting for him to come out on the rooftop as well. Adrenaline is pumping through Ray's veins and it's half of the reason he loves the job. The other half is the money. 

They use the drain pipe to get down, and have just touched the ground when a police officer follows them out of the attic window, looking down and shouting at them to stop. Ray and Ryan of course don't pay any attention, bolting down the street as fast as they can. 

And then a gunshot echoes and suddenly Ray is on the ground and it takes him a moment to register the pain in his leg that caused him to fall, then Ryan is beside him, helping him up but the moment he tries to put any weight onto his leg his vision swims with the pain. The bullet must have hit a bone. 

"Ryan I can't step." He pants out, cold sweat already beading on his forehead. "The fucker hit me good." 

Ryan grunts angrily and without a split moment's hesitation he tosses the duffel aside. 

"What are you doing?" 

"I can't carry you and the bag at the same time."

"Oh."

There's a part of Ray that knows Ryan has a much better chance at escaping if he leaves him behind. There's also the part of Ray that knows Ryan would never do that. 

With the bag discarded Ray takes its position on Ryan's back and the older starts running as the cop that shot Ray is halfway down the drain pipe himself. 

Ray isn't a huge man but he's still heavy enough to slow Ryan down considerably. They make it through several streets and alleys until Ryan makes a wrong turn and realises it too late. They're stuck in a dead end and going back means running head first into the police. 

"Fuck." Ryan swears and Ray feels the sound vibrating through his lover's chest. 

"Put me down." Ray says quietly. His wound is throbbing from Ryan's running. His vision is getting blurry, he's losing a lot of blood. 

"Ray-" 

"Put me down Ryan." Ray says more sternly this time and Ryan listens, carefully letting him down on the ground. "You should run." 

The look Ryan gives him is both outraged and ridiculous at the same time. "That's not happening."

"You have a chance to escape them." Ray says but he knows it's not going to work. He wouldn't have left either. 

Ryan doesn't say anything and his silence is more stubborn than any answer he could have given. 

"If they catch us," Ray begins again because they don't have much time left. "And if I survive this, they'll separate us. If they don't hang us. And even if they do they'll keep us apart until then."

He's right. He knows he's right. And Ryan knows it too. And Ray can see it in his eyes that he can't bare the thought. Ray can't either. 

"We could kill them." Ryan suggests but it's weak, he knows it's impossible. 

"Not before they kill us back." Ray chuckles. The back of his throat tastes like iron. 

"I won't let them separate us." Ryan's voice is low and so serious now that it tugs on Ray's heart strings. 

He chuckles again. "I always did say you'd be the death of me." 

Ryan laughs. It almost sounds relieved. He pulls out his gun and Ray follows suit. 

"This is-" 

"-just the beginning." Ray finishes and they press the guns to each other's temples. 

There's something almost lovable to the sight. It's almost poetic, but Ray has never been one for poetry so he doesn't try explaining it. 

Ryan leans in and Ray meets him halfway. It's a painfully sweet kiss compared to the situation they're in. They've talked about it before. They've agreed this is how it ends, and looking back at it Ray's only regret is that it didn't last a moment longer. 

They act as one, they're good like that. Ray feels the moment Ryan is ready to pull the trigger and… there. 

\------

Officer Jacobs is the first one at the scene, having been the one to have shot from the roof. The disregarded loot bag had slowed him down and he'd been afraid he'd lost the thieves only to find the blood trail they'd left behind. 

He'd been just around the corner when a loud gunshot had echoed against the alley walls. He'd expected many things rounding that corner and none of them had been as shocking as the scene that met him. 

Two bodies, on top of each other, blood splattered all over the wall behind them and gaping holes on both of their heads. With guns still in hand they seem to have shot in unison and despite the gore there's something almost intimate about it. Almost loving. It sends a chill down Jacobs' back. 

The R&R had been on the police's list for the longest time, always managing to slip away. Always one step ahead. Jacobs had almost thought they'd never get caught. And in a way they weren't. They chose death over capture. In their own twisted way they got the upper hand one last time. 

The police doesn't bother with formalities. The coroner's report is concluded in record time and they get buried by the following evening. The funeral is almost sad in retrospect. A priest and two officers sent to supervise the ordeal. No family. No friends. No tears shed for the duo. Like all they'd had in the world had been each other. They're buried next to each other. Jacobs thinks they would've liked that. He's not sure how that makes him feel. 

He doesn't know if anyone will place tombstones upon their graves. 

\---------- 

Ryan wakes up gasping for air and the force of it makes his lungs hurt. At first he doesn't really know what's happening. He knows he died. He remembers the bullet going through his brain for a split second before he died. He remembers feeling Ray against him just a moment before. And then nothing. 

It's dark where he is. It's dark and stuffy and not very comfortable. It's a small space, and so so quiet. 

It's hell, Ryan thinks. What else could it be? He was never a believer, but nothing else would make sense. Is Ray in hell too? Is he in a dark space just like this one? 

Ryan hopes not. But he also wishes Ray was with him all the same. 

As time passes Ryan becomes restless. He can't just lay there forever. Even if that's all there is for him now. Even if nothing exists beyond his little box anymore. 

He starts feeling the walls. It's hard to move. They feel like wood. He pushes a little and it doesn't budge. So he pushes harder. Hits the roof of the box and it makes soft thuds but nothing happens. 

Then he starts running out of breath. It takes him a while to notice it's not just him railing up but the air is actually ending. 

Ryan tries not to panic. 

He panics.

The air runs out faster but he can't control it. His lungs seize up, he starts gasping, struggling to get one breath in but it gets more and more difficult and just makes him panic more. 

Ryan dies again and this time it's in agony. But when he comes back this time he knows he's alive. He knows what being dead feels like and he knows he's not dead anymore.

It's a difficult realization. There's no hole in his head anymore. The scrapes on his hands from going down the drain pipe are gone.

And then there's the next realization. 

If he's alive but he died then there's one place he can be. 

He needs to get out.

Hitting the roof of his coffin is hard. He doesn't have the space to swing properly, the wood is rough and leaves splinters in his knuckles. The strain makes him breathe harder and it's not long before air runs out again. 

He can't stop himself from struggling for another breath, he can't stop his pathetic gasps and clawing the sides of the coffin as the cold embrace of death claims him again. 

And again. 

And again. 

And again. 

He dies six times before the wood above him cracks. It fills him with hope for just a second before the coffin starts filling with dirt. 

The crack isn't big enough for him to crawl through. And his position makes it difficult to move anyway but he keeps trying. He keeps punching the wood and dying and waking up just to do it again. By the time he manages to make a big enough hole he can barely stay awake for a couple of minutes at the time, the dirt crushing him, covering most of his face. 

It's a slow and excruciating process. Every part of him aches but he keeps coming back he keeps moving, inch by painful inch until there's nothing but dirt around him and he only hopes that he's still going up. 

Ryan loses count of how many times he's died and come back by the time his fingers break through the ground and he feels air graze them. He cries when it happens. Or at least he thinks he does. It's hard to tell. 

It's still some time before he manages to push himself through enough to be able to breathe. By the time he manages to pull himself out entirely it feels like weeks have passed. 

It's night time when he emerges. The moon is full and bright in the sky and Ryan just lays on top of the dirt that held him prisoner and watches it. It's so beautiful. The stars have never seemed so close. He reaches out a hand and feels like he can touch them. 

He wishes Ray was there.

The thought makes him sit up in almost panic. He looks around frantically and his eyes settle on the patch of fresh dirt a few feet away from his own. His heart stops. 

There's no mistake to what lies beneath it. 

But there's the question. Is Ray alive? Is he dying death after death just like Ryan had? The moon had been a crescent on the night they'd died. Is Ray just like him, lungs full of dirt and despair, crushed on all sides by his grave? 

The thought makes Ryan sick. He can't let it happen. He can't risk it. Even if it means he opens Ray's coffin to find him dead and mangled by Ryan's gunshot. Even if the view could drive him insane. 

He gets on his knees and starts digging down, throwing dirt in all directions, frantic to get to his lover. To save him from suffering. 

The process feels slower than Ryan's raise from the grave. His hands aren't enough, he's not fast enough, the dirt is too hard. He knows it isn't. It's soft and as easy to dig as possible but he wills it to be softer. Easier. 

The sky is starting to turn a paler shade of blue when his fingers finally hit wood. This time he does cry. And it makes him hesitate. 

What if Ray isn't back? What if Ryan's eternal punishment is that he gets to keep on living without his partner by his side? If he doesn't open the coffin then he'll never know. He can live an illusion. 

A loud gasp from beneath him pulls him out of his thoughts and makes his heart beat impossibly faster. 

"Ray!" He calls out and starts working harder to uncover enough of the coffin to be able to open it. "Ray! Can you hear me?" 

Ray doesn't answer. Not verbally at least. But after a second there's a weak knock from the inside and Ryan is now moving at an inhuman speed. 

"Hold on Ray, I'm almost done!" He calls again. "I got you. I got you… I got you." He repeats it like a mantra until the edge of the coffin finally gets uncovered and he digs his fingers in. 

It's not even nailed shut. And if it didn't make opening it easier Ryan would have been offended at how little effort the police had put into their funeral. No glory for the thieves it seemed. 

Ryan yanks the lid open with enough force to hurt. But there he is. Ray. He takes a deep breath as air finally enters his wooden prison and sits up immediately, looking up at Ryan with both wonder and horror written on his face. 

"Ryan?" His voice is rusty and small and it's enough to make Ryan's knees weak. 

"It's me."

"We died."

"I know."

"Huh."

Ryan then helps Ray out of the coffin, out of the hole he dug and onto a patch of grass a little ways away from their graves. They stay close, tangled in each other as they sit, the cold morning air making them shiver. Yet they don't notice, not really. They're too distracted by each other, by the air in their lungs, by the slowly approaching daylight. 

"I thought I was in hell." Ray says eventually, running his thumb along Ryan's knuckles. 

"Me too." Ryan admits. "And I thought my punishment was to never see you again."

Ray hums. "I was a little angry at you in the beginning. We'd promised each other not to let death be the end and there you were nowhere to be found."

That makes Ryan laugh. He hasn't laughed in so long it feels. Of course Ray thought that. 

"No circle of hell will keep me away from you. You know that."

"Damn." Ray whistles quietly. "The grave made you a poet." 

Ryan shoves him away playfully which only makes Ray bounce right back, closer than before. 

"What now?" He asks, suddenly serious. "What do we do tomorrow?"

Ryan hums. "We live."

"I like the sound of that." Ray grins and Ryan can't help himself anymore. 

The kiss tastes like dirt, and love, and a thousand unspoken words they don't need to say at all. They know. As long as they're together nothing will stand in their way.


End file.
